I'm being haunted by a goose.

I’m feeling the desire to mix things up a little bit. I’ve also been wanting to write about this goose for days now. I had the time and space to do so this morning.

Happy Sunday!

I’m feeling the desire to mix things up a little bit. I’ve also been wanting to write about this goose for days now. I had the time and space to do so this morning.

I also wanted to share it with you right now, so I am honoring that impulse because this newsletter is part mine and yours.

I’d love to know if you connect to this story in any way or have had any similar experiences.

Wishing you a peaceful day.

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I’m being haunted…by a goose.

A Canada Goose to be exact (and yes, it’s a CANADA goose, not CANADIAN).

It all started on April 2nd. 

“What’s that guy doing all alone?” my friend asked, gesturing to the bumbling lone goose snacking in my neighbor's yard as we drove by. 

My friend, while amazing, isn't the most detail-oriented person. That’s how remarkable the sight of a lone goose is. 

Google, “lone Canada Goose” and this is what you’ll come across:

If you see a lone goose in the wild, unfortunately, it’s usually not a good sign. Finding a goose on their own may mean they have lost their mate, have been separated from their flock, or may have an injury that is preventing them from joining the flock.

Yes, the source is faunafacts.com, but after even more internet sleuthing my human heart found little comfort. 

After the initial sighting, the goose disappeared for a few days. As it goes, the acute sting of sadness waned and I carried along with life. 

THE GOOSE

Then it reappeared. 

“Something has to be done!” I thought as I looked out at a pond filled with geese and back at my lonely friend finding insects in my front yard. 

In general, animals have always made me more emotional than humans. I think the reason has ebbed and flowed. Initially, they were safer. They don’t mock or tell you to suck it up. If I was sad, I’d look down at my dog and insist that her eyes were filled with sadness over her toy that rolled under the couch. Then there’s the helper in my bones. I’m a problem solver. It makes me feel good to help others, so what could be more satisfying than saving a cute helpless creature?  

As I’ve grown in my emotional intelligence and my connection with the natural world, I know that often the best thing we can do is not interject ourselves into matters of mother nature–human or otherwise. Sometimes the best thing we can do is hold space. 

So, instead of rushing and figuring out how I could take in and domesticate a wild goose, or trying to round up the flock bobbing around happily in the pond for a restorative circle, I sat and watched…for half an hour. Then I called and left messages with a wildlife rehabilitator, a wildlife hospital, snapped a picture, and sent it in a group text to my friends, with the question– “WHAT DO I DO!?”. Holding space is hard. Action is easier. 

“He looks like a little drunk old man”, my friend replied.

I went to bed without answers or allies as my feathered friend snuggled into the brush all alone. 

The following day, my phone calls were returned.

I was instructed to call my local animal control officer if I saw the goose again. 

A handful of days passed, and again, my activist insides dulled as the goose went missing. 

Fast forward a few more days. “I need to go”, I told the customer service lady as I pulled into my driveway to see my humanitarian cause sunbathing in my front yard next to a large rock adorned with its feces. 

My fingers slammed ‘PLYMOUTH ANIMAL CONTROL’ into Google and the phone rang. When my call was returned, they assured me that they would take a drive through the neighborhood the following day. I shared the news with my friends feeling satisfied to finally have some progress. They were kind enough to not roll their eyes via emoji. 

The story starts to get repetitive here, because the goose went away for a day or two, and then reappeared. To my credit, the next few times I saw my ghoulish avian buddy, I didn’t pick up the phone. I just watched. The goose liked to snack in yards every day at 10 am and 2 pm.

“I swear this goose is just my mom haunting me”, I texted my friend as I watched its morning ritual. 

After a few more days, and watching my neighbor nearly hit it with her car, I had data and a cell phone video.

I made one last call to animal control and emailed my footage. 

The verdict arrived in my inbox: 

Good morning,

This goose looks like he’s getting along perfectly fine to us . If you notice significant limping, wing dragging, or other injury please feel free to reach out again.

I’d be lying if I told you a sliver of me was let down for a brief moment. I knew when I sent that video, the goose was physically fine, but I wanted someone to scoop it up, take it in, and give it a flock. I caught myself projecting human emotions onto a wild animal. However, this time was different because instead of feeling purely for the goose, I’ve been feeling for both of us. 

My goose and its perfectly healthy stroll down the street.

When I see this goose, I see me, but I’m also learning from it. It’s given me permission to feel. It’s given me clarity. The goose is my mirror. 

• Do I want pity after losing my flock? No. Pity makes my skin crawl. 

• Do I want someone else to tell me the best way to live my life? No. I want to carve that path. 

• Do I want someone to rescue me on my hard days? Honestly, no. There are no shortcuts. 

• Do I want someone to rush me through my healing? No. I want to give myself the time and space to feel what needs to be felt. 

The goose lost its flock. Part of my flock was taken from me, but I also intentionally left some parts. But we are both getting by. We are both enjoying the sun and fresh spring air. Sometimes my new friend even looks content snacking alone. I am frequently content alone.

And so, when I see this goose at 10 and 2, I hold space for it, and it holds space for me as we witness each other’s journey.

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»»Celebrate spring by checking out my journal Lessons from Nature.

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